by C. J. Archer
"For what?"
"For..." he cleared his throat, "for showing you a side of my nature today not fit to be seen by a woman like you."
"A woman like me?"
"A gentle-hearted woman. You hate violence. I could see it in your face when you saw the blood on Hawkesbury's arm. That makes you somewhat of an oddity," he said with a half-smile. "Most Londoners would have given up a body part to witness a sword fight between two gentlemen."
She wasn't sure how to tell him that it wasn't the blood but the wildness she'd seen in Blake's eyes that had so disturbed her. The uncontrollable beast lurking inside him had taken over his soul during the fight. And that scared her witless.
"I suppose my upbringing was unlike most," she said weakly.
"That's what makes you so unique. Precious."
Precious? He thought she was precious? Her face heated and she battled to contain a silly smile.
No! Oh no, Minerva Peabody, do NOT get sucked in by a few pretty words and a pair of blue eyes. Danger and Trouble remember? Pirates know how to get what they want.
She struggled to maintain her composure. When she'd won the battle, she said, "So what are you going to do about Lilly and Lord Hawkesbury?"
He removed his hat and rubbed a hand through his hair, making it stand out at odd angles. "I don't know. She doesn't want me to speak to him." He crushed the brim of the hat in his fist. "But I can't leave things as they are. She's my sister. The cur needs to be made accountable for his actions."
"Accountable how?"
He shrugged and looked down at his hat, loosening his grip but the brim was beyond repair. Was he deliberately avoiding her gaze? Avoiding her question?
She wouldn't let him. This involved her now too, whether he liked it or not. The ramifications of whatever action he decided to take affected more than just himself and his family. He needed to understand that.
"You used me to get into the troupe," she said, her jaw tight, "and now you want to jeopardize my dream by killing the patron!"
He fixed a hard, unyielding gaze on her. "You used me too. First to have your play performed and then to teach you about desire. I think we're even."
"You black-hearted, vile...pirate!"
Instead of rising to her challenge, he sighed and slumped lower in his chair. "Min—."
"Lord Hawkesbury knows who you are," she said, cutting him off. It was all she could think of to wound him. And she wanted to wound him, to prod him into seeing this problem from the point of view of others.
His face slowly changed. The hard angles softened, his cheeks hollowed and misery haunted his eyes. She wanted to reach for him, hold him, but didn't. She couldn't risk it leading to something more, something she couldn't stop. Not with this man, this wild beast. This pirate.
"I see," he said quietly.
"It wasn't me who told him." She wasn't willing to tell him who had given up his identity. She wouldn't risk his ire being turned on anyone else.
"I know it wasn't you or Alice." Which they both knew left only one other person. So much for keeping it a secret.
"How can you be so sure of my loyalty?"
He shrugged. "I just am."
"Someone once told me it's unwise to trust people so readily."
He offered a grim smile at her reminder of his own remark. "I think that person was referring to trusting blackguards like myself."
"You're not a blackguard."
"You don't believe that."
She didn't know what to believe anymore.
"I know I've not given you reason to like me today." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his damaged hat dangling between his fingers. "But I want you to know that I've not lied to you, and that I don't want to hurt you."
"Then leave Lord Hawkesbury alone. Find a way to make him wed your sister but do not kill him or harm him or do anything that will jeopardize my plays."
The fact that it might be too late for that hung heavy between them. Neither spoke it but Min knew Blake must be thinking it. If Lord Hawkesbury wanted to disassociate himself with Lilly and her family, then he would want to sever Blake's connection to the troupe. That meant no more performances of his plays—Min's plays—now that Blake's identity was known.
"I have an offer for you that might go some way to alleviating your financial strain," he said.
She blinked at him. What was he talking about? What did her family's situation have to do with her plays or Lord Hawkesbury? Surely he didn't think she was writing them simply for the money. Although that certainly helped, it was not everything. Not in the least.
"I think you'd best explain yourself," she said.
He drew in a slow breath then let it out again. Just when she thought he would tell her, he suddenly stood and strode to the window. Was he going to leave already?
She stood too, but she wasn't sure how to stop him leaving. Beg?
Then he turned around, the hat brim suffering once more but this time it was wrung by both hands. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak. But he appeared to have second thoughts and shut it again. Then he did the most odd thing. He knelt on one knee and took her hand in one of his. His thumb rubbed a calloused area of her palm as if he were trying to remove the hardened pad of skin.
"Blake, what are you doing? You'll snag your hose on the rushes if you're not careful."
"Min," he said and cleared his throat again. "Min, I've come here tonight to ask you to be my wife."
Time stopped. Blood ceased to flow in her veins. Her mind shut down. Was this what it felt like to swoon? She plopped down in a chair because her legs could no longer hold her up.
Then everything whirred to life with a vengeance.
He wanted to marry her?
Marry!
Her!
"Er." She couldn't get out a single coherent word without her throat closing.
"That's not quite the answer I was after." He smiled. Smiled! The dog.
"Is this your idea of a joke?" she said, pulling her hand out of his.
"N—."
"Because I don't find it funny."
"No! Min. I'm serious." He took her hand again. She removed it from his grasp once more. He sighed and stood up. "Min, I'm trying to do the right thing. You're not making my task any easier."
Task? The right thing? Was proposing marriage to her such a chore?
"We've only known each other a few days, Blake," she said, choosing her words carefully. "What has led you to this in such a short time? Particularly since I was quite certain we came to an understanding last night that there could be nothing more between us?"
He moved to the fire, reduced to a few flames clinging to a single piece of blackened wood. He stoked it and added another log. "I changed my mind. I'd like to marry you. I think it would be a good match."
"For me, certainly. I'd gain your fortune and your good name. But what would you achieve from the union?" She clasped her hands in her lap and a sense of calm soothed her frayed nerves. "I could bring no dowry and my family name has become synonymous with failure on a monumental scale. You'd be encumbered with a father-in-law who is eccentric at best, a candidate for Bedlam at worst, and a wife who writes plays and is prone to flights of fancy. So when you tell me it is what you want, forgive me if I don't believe you."
He wheeled on her, poker in hand. "None of that matters to me, Min!" He returned the poker to the tool stand and knelt before her. "You want to know what I'd gain from the marriage?" When before he couldn't quite look her in the eyes, this time he seemed to have no such problems. What she saw in his gaze unnerved her with its ferocity. "I'd gain you. I'd have you to greet me when I get home and warm my bed at night. I'd have you at my side, your strength and resilience, your passion and your loyalty. A woman I can be proud of. A woman I can trust."
More pretty words. They were heartfelt enough, perhaps even true, but there was something unbelievable about his proposal. It took her several anguished moments of alternating exhilaration and di
sbelief to put her finger on it—he'd not mentioned love.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and willed herself not to shed any tears. They would do her no good. What she needed now was inner strength to say what she needed to say.
"You mentioned having me at your side," she whispered, "but you and I both know that isn't possible. A ship is no place for a woman, Blake, and you're not ready to make a home here." She held up her hand to silence him. Surprisingly, he obeyed. "You are a man of the sea, you want to roam the world and experience more of what life has to offer. Those are your dreams and I am a great believer in following dreams."
He shook his head and his gaze shifted away from hers once more. "I'll give it up. We can buy a house wherever you desire. Your father can come live—."
"Stop! Enough, Blake." She stood and crossed the room to the fire. It was the closest she could be to him and not feel the pull of his powerful presence. "You don't need to feel guilty about last night. I am not your sister."
He stared at her, unblinking, unmoving. Oh dear, had she gone too far?
"I'm not offering marriage out of guilt." But it was a lie and she knew it. What's more, she sensed that he knew that she knew it. "I'll not abandon you, Min." It was enough to confirm her suspicions. He didn't love her. He didn't want to marry her, but his sense of duty was so great that he'd been willing to give up so much for her sake.
It only made her love him more.
That's why she couldn't accept. Couldn't tie him to a woman he didn't love with all his heart, couldn't tie him to England when he wanted to see the world. If she did, he would eventually resent her for it, perhaps he'd even come to hate her. She couldn't bear that.
It wasn't fair. She wanted him more than she'd wanted anything in her life, more even than she wanted to write, but not like this. She didn't want his pity or his guilt. She wanted his unconditional love in return.
"I'm not pregnant, Blake. There's no need to worry on that score. You took care of that possibility."
"That's not the point," he snapped. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as it had done after his fight with Lord Hawkesbury.
"It is for me."
He strode to her, closing the gap between them in a blink. "Min—."
She put her hand against his chest to stop him. His heart thundered against her palm. "Don't. This is awkward enough. Do not prolong it."
"Min." It came out as a sigh not a protest. His shoulders slumped and his head lowered. She dropped her hand. "You are one hell of a stubborn woman."
He didn't know all of it. It took every ounce of her willpower to ignore the screaming of her heart in protest at her refusal.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"There's nothing to be sorry for. You wanted to do the right thing and you should be commended for it."
He grunted. "You have it wrong there. The problem is, I don't want to do the right thing where you're concerned. The right thing would have been to walk away. I couldn't." He wiped his thumb across her cheek.
Don't do that. Don't go and do something so tender. Her heart was already fragile enough. She was barely holding herself together as it was. If he kissed her, she might take back her refusal. And then she'd probably take him to bed.
"Believe me when I tell you that you are the only woman I would wish to marry."
"It's just that you don't want to marry anyone right now?"
His nod was small but it was there. His thumb slipped from her cheek to the corner of her mouth. He leaned in and kissed her, his lips like feathers, his scent intoxicating.
She stood still so her soul wouldn't shatter. But then he released her and she would have given her soul, whole or not, to have him kiss her again.
He took up his deformed hat and opened the window. Cool air flooded the room and soothed her heated skin. Misty rain sprayed the sill and his cloak as he climbed through. He stood on the balcony and lifted a hand in farewell. Goodbye, he mouthed.
And then he closed the window and was swallowed up by the night and the rain.
CHAPTER 16
Min awoke late and out of sorts. She'd been up most of the night reliving Blake's proposal and agonizing over whether she'd done the right thing. Every possible scenario had played out in her head, from wedded bliss on a country estate to her own descent into piracy to follow Blake on his chosen path. Needless to say, all scenarios ended happily. And none of them were close to reality. They only served to make her feel more miserable and more certain of the hopelessness of a union between them.
She'd done the right thing. If only the right thing didn't hurt so much. The pain was like an arrow through her heart. Not even turning to her play could dislodge it. Her father's work certainly couldn't. It would take something time-consuming and all-absorbing to distract her.
So she went shopping. Alone. The last thing she needed was Jane's sympathetic yet probing questions. Min simply wanted to avoid the subject of Blake altogether.
Shopping turned out to be a very bad idea. Blake's name was on everyone's lips. It seemed vendors and buyers alike on Cheapside had either seen or heard of Marius and Livia and wanted to know more about its mysterious author.
The euphoria of hearing how much the play was enjoyed by so many was quickly dashed on the rocks of her disappointment when she recalled what had passed between her and Blake the night before. A deepening of her love for him. The absence of love in his feelings for her. Their final farewell.
It was like the script of a play. One that didn't end well for the hapless heroine.
She made it home without crying—except for the little sob she allowed herself at the onion stall after hearing his name yet again—only to find Ned lingering on her doorstep. Could the day get any worse?
"Allow me to help you with your basket," he said, relieving her of it before she assented. "Shall I carry it up to your rooms?"
No way was she letting Ned anywhere near her rooms and the privacy they offered. "The parlor will do. Thank you."
Inside, he deposited the basket on the small table but not before he lifted the corner of the cloth laid atop her packages, protecting them from the weather and prying eyes. She stopped him before he raised it further. He withdrew his hand as if she'd slapped it away. "So..." He cleared his throat. "You've been shopping."
"Yes. Hence the full basket you've just brought in for me."
"Ah. Yes. Of course. Where did you go?"
"Cheapside mostly."
"Did you buy any fabric? I would have given it to you at a considerable discount if you'd come to me. We've got an excess of fustian in stock at the moment thanks to an incorrect order placed by my inept apprentice. I could have given you an excellent price on it."
"No, no fabric." She hoped her face didn't give away her lie. She'd decided against buying from any of Ned's father's shops. She didn't want to be beholden to him for the favor, nor did she want him to know she had extra money for such a purchase.
Unfortunately he knew now.
"No fabric? Your basket seems quite full..." He stared at it as if hoping to see through the protective layer to all her purchases below.
"Meaning?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Er, nothing. Nothing at all." A long silence sucked the air out of the room and Ned grew more agitated the longer it went on, fidgeting with his cuff and shifting his weight from foot to foot. Min refused to relieve him of his agony. She was quite content to see him war with himself. Eventually, his curiosity won out. "Has your father found a new patron?"
"No." It gave her a perverse sense of satisfaction not to tell him where the money for her purchases had come from. "Now if you'll excuse me, I should see if Jane needs me."
"Yes, of course." He didn't move. "One thing before I go..." The fidgeting got worse until she thought he might detatch the lace cuff altogether. "Have you thought any more about my offer of marriage?"
"Actually, I have. And I'm afraid I must decline."
"What!" Clearly that hadn't been the respons
e he'd expected.
"I'm sorry, Ned. I simply cannot marry you."
"Don't be absurd." He shook his head in disbelief. "You cannot afford NOT to marry me, Minerva. Look at you." He waved a hand at her gown. "Your attire is shabby, your hands are worn and you probably haven't eaten a good meal in weeks. You cannot go on like this." He stepped closer and grasped her shoulders. "You need to marry me or you'll be out on the street soon."
"We'll be all right." She picked off his fingers and stepped away. "Thank you for your concern, Ned, but I can't marry for money."
He frowned. "Why not? Everyone else does."
"That's not quite true. People marry for love too."
He snorted. "Now you're talking like a woman again."
That's because I am! Instead of screaming at him like she wanted to, she clamped down her jaw and gave him a sour smile. "Love aside, my feelings towards you are not what they should be between a husband and wife."
"But that might change, given time."
There wasn't enough time in the world to make her want to share a bed with Ned. "I like you as a friend but that is all. I'm certain that won't change."
"You can't be certain," he scoffed. "Everyone knows the female sex is fickle. Your feelings could be different tomorrow."
"I can assure you they won't be. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to help Jane. Good day, Ned." She wasn't about to leave her basket and its goods to his prying eyes so she waited to see him out.
With another shake of his head and a last look at her basket, he left. Min breathed a sigh of relief and carried her shopping into the kitchen. Jane looked up from where she sat on a stool by the fire mending a hole in her spare netherhose.
"What's for dinner?" Min asked.
"Mutton pie. It's almost ready. What's that you've got in there?" she said, craning her neck to see into the basket.
Min placed it on the table and lifted off the cloth, followed by the flat parcel containing blank parchment for herself and her father. Then she pulled out three bottles of ink, two pens, a length of blue holland and another of black broadcloth, a pair of gloves and a good copy of the map her father wanted.